


Peppermint Hot Chocolate

by Haepherion



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, M/M, little spoon Bucky, with a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haepherion/pseuds/Haepherion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’ll be worth the money, he mentally repeats to himself as he walks home with two peppermint canes and two bars of chocolate tucked into his coat, arranged carefully so that they don’t melt or break on the walk back."</p><p>(Or, the one where Steve spends his emergency money on hot chocolate and candy canes, because it's an emergency.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peppermint Hot Chocolate

            It’s the small blessings, Steve decides, that make Christmas special. Their heater amazingly hasn’t shut off yet, even though they weren’t able to pay for the heating bill this month. The thrift shop down the street decided to give away one free item to every person that showed up at their door until they ran out, and Bucky and Steve just managed to snatch a thin blanket and a scratchy wool coat, even though they were the last ones in line.

 

            They aren’t able to afford any sort of tree, but Bucky finds a small abandoned potted plant on in an alley, and they jokingly name it Phil the Potted Plant, keeping it in a corner of their shared bedroom. Steve manages to get some colored papers from the young girl next door and makes a few ornaments to decorate Phil with.

 

            There aren’t any presents under it, but Steve could care less. It’s never been about the presents anyway, and frankly, he’s just thankful that his weak body somehow made it to see another year pass. It’s already more than he could ask for.

 

            It’s Christmas Eve and Bucky still has to work his two jobs. Steve doesn’t bother asking if he could possibly take a day off from either job; both of them know that taking a day off means a day without food, somewhere later down the road.

 

           When Bucky leaves later that afternoon he gives Steve a tight hug, muttering, “If old man Harold shuts down the heater, just punch him in the mouth and tell him we’ll cover it next month.” He says it sarcastically, which still doesn’t do nearly enough to hide the worried crease between his dark eyebrows. Steve replies to with a wry smile and “He’s 80, Bucky.”

 

           They both know that if the heat did shut off, there’d be nothing Steve could do except shiver to death. He’s not even sure anyone would notice, besides Bucky of course, and isn’t that a joyful thought.

 

            “Stay warm,” Bucky warns, pulling on his too-big boots and almost putting his foot through the bottom. He swears, pushing the rubber back against the worn canvas of the shoe a few times to try and fix it before abandoning it entirely. Steve makes a mental note to find him another pair before the winter really hits in January; no way can Bucky survive the winter walking around in the snow and cold without losing a few toes.

 

            “I will” Steve suppresses a shiver, wrapping the scratchy blanket tighter around his own shoulders. Heater or not, there’s a slight draft that blows into the apartment, no matter how tightly they’ve locked the windows and door. The apartment is cold and damp, the pipes occasionally freezing up so that the rooms feel like iceboxes.

 

            Bucky wipes his nose against the back of his hand and coughs, mouth closed to try and keep it in as he reaches for the doorknob. It’s only then that Steve notices the feverish blush high on Bucky’s sharp cheeks, his too-bright eyes.

 

           “Bucky…”

 

           “What?” Bucky says defensively, eyes daring Steve to say something. His breath mists a little in the dry air as he reaches for the doorknob.

 

            “I can’t stay, I’m gonna be late.”

 

            “I know, just-“ Steve hurries back into their room and digs out his hat from their wardrobe, tossing it to Bucky and hoping that’ll be enough to keep him from getting sicker. Both of them know that they can’t afford a doctor, or medicine, besides the little tub of Vick’s they keep under the bed for when Steve has asthma attacks.

 

            “Thanks.” Bucky gives him a mock salute before heading out, leaving Steve alone.

 

            The first order of business, Steve decides, is seeing if they have enough ingredients for soup so he can make some in time for Bucky when he finally gets back from work. They have nothing in the house except for a few carrots, oatmeal, half a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. Steve tries not to feel too guilty about their meager supplies. Until recently, Steve had been too sick, and Bucky too tired to go out and get anything from the store. Admittedly they were also low on money, since they had spent so much on the turkey for Thanksgiving last month.

 

            Steve goes back into the bedroom and drops to his knees, hand reaching around underneath the bed to pull out a small wooden box.

 

            Inside there are a few broken charcoals and some folded pieces of paper with sketches on them, the Vick’s, his mother’s favorite necklace, and a little leather pouch. Steve replaces the box and takes out the pouch, dumping the contents of it into his palm. He counts the coins, quickly adding them to $1.48. The money is for emergencies, but Steve can’t think of a better time than now. It’ll be enough, he thinks, for what he’s trying to do.

 

            Placing the money carefully back in the pouch, he ties the string around the top and stuffs it carefully into his right pocket. He goes around the room, finding as many jackets and sweaters as he and Bucky own and throwing them on over himself before shoving his bony feet into another pair of dilapidated boots.

 

            It’s frigid outside, even with the sun reflecting blinding light off the dirty snow piled high at the edge of the pavement. The city streets are crowded with people rushing to buy last minute things before Christmas tomorrow. Steve almost gets elbowed into the street a few times, people barely stopping to give him a second glance. By the time he makes it to the shop, he’s shivering, hands numb from the cold (Bucky took the only pair of mittens they own).

 

            “Steve,” Angela murmurs sympathetically when he walks into the store, coughing. His lungs burn from the sudden heat of the inside of the shop, as if they were defrosting.

 

            “’Afternoon, Ms. Angela,” Steve manages to wheeze out, waving a weak hello.

 

            “The weather is dreadful, you really shouldn’t be out and about right now,” Angela says disapprovingly as Steve bursts into another bout of dry coughs, rubbing at his chest to try and adjust to the temperature.

 

            “’m fine, really,” he says as steadily as he can before sneezing spectacularly.

 

            “Why didn’t you get Bucky to come instead?” 

 

            “At work, ma’am. Also, sick.”

 

            “Work, at the harbor, in this weather, with a flu? My my…” Angela shakes her head, sighing. “Well, go on and pick out what you need, I’ll see if I can do anything to help you boys out.”

 

            “Thank you, ma’am,” Steve says sincerely. She’s always tried to look out for Steve, giving him odd jobs to do during the summer to make some extra cash, giving him and Bucky small discounts whenever they brought something from the store. Steve reminds himself to make her something nice, next time he has the chance to.

 

            There isn’t much he needs (or can afford); Steve picks up a can of chicken broth, some margarine, some peas and a small bag of noodles and makes his way to the front. Angela rings him up, surreptitiously knocking a few pennies off the final amount. He counts out the change and pays, making sure the door doesn’t slam on his way out the door.

 

            Steve takes his time on the way back, enjoying the temporary freedom of the outdoors. He’s used to staying indoors most winters, thanks to his less than magnificent health issues, but there’s nothing for him in their cramped apartment besides the peeling paper on the yellow walls. It’s still cold out, but Steve hasn’t breathed fresh air since before the first snowfall – the air in the apartment feels dusty and cloying compared to the crisp bite of the winter wind.

 

            Brooklyn is particularly alive during the holidays, Steve thinks, people more cheerful and more stressed in equal measures. Some shops have pretty strings of tinsel and small Christmas trees in their displays, vibrant ornaments hanging from them. Steve wanders from store to store until his socks are soaked through with water and his face is numb from the cold.

 

            It’s then that he smells a heavenly scent wafting from a small shop at the far corner of the street, opposite of where the apartment is. Before Steve can really make a conscious decision that he wants to go there, his feet are already moving, taking him closer.

 

            It’s a sweets shop, only the second one Steve’s ever seen in his life. A lady in a mink coat bustles out of the shop, arms laden with boxes of chocolate, almost knocking Steve over in her rush to leave. She throws him a dirty look over her shoulder as she walks away, heels clicking loudly against the sidewalk.

 

            Steve opens the wooden door and steps inside. Immediately, the sweet scent of cinnamon, chocolate, and roasted almonds wraps around him warmly, nearly melting him into a puddle on the spot. It’s a small bakery as well, colorful little pastel cakes and pastries sitting next to the owner of the shop, an older man who smiles at Steve as he inhales deeply, breathing in the sugary smells.

 

            “May I get you something?”

 

            Steve turns to look at him, dazed by the powerful smell of a fresh batch of chocolate cookies the owner is putting into the display. For a brief flash he remembers a pristine oven, a warm kitchen, his mother’s smile, and just as quickly it’s gone, leaving nothing but a tendril of aching memories in his mind.

 

            “I-“

 

            But of course he can’t afford it. There’s no way, not when they haven’t paid the rent for this month, not when they don't have a dollar to their names, not when-

 

            “What…what do you have?”

             

 

            It’ll be worth the money, he mentally repeats to himself as he walks home with two peppermint canes and two bars of chocolate tucked into his coat, arranged carefully so that they don’t melt or break on the long walk back. Sugar is more expensive than he ever remembers it being. He stops by the store again and buys a quart of milk. Angela asks him if he needs help carrying anything back.

 

 

            When Bucky gets home later that night, exhausted, sore, and feverish, there’s a hot bowl of chicken soup waiting for him. Steve can’t help but grin, even as Bucky grumbles and gripes about the miserable weather.

 

 

            After dinner when Bucky’s feeling a little better and they’re sitting on the floor of their bedroom playing cards, Steve excuses himself to the kitchen, strictly commanding Bucky to stay in the room until he gets back.

 

            Steve comes back a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a peppermint cane in each of them, gleeful as Bucky stares with wondrous eyes.

 

            “Where…where’d you get the money to buy _that?_ ”

 

            “Don’t worry about it. My present to you,” Steve says, and really, it’s the least he could do after all that Bucky’s done for him.

 

            It was worth it, Steve thinks later when he’s warm under the covers, chest curled around Bucky’s back, to see the way Bucky smiled. It was worth it.  

 

***

            The fire crackles as Steve tosses another log onto it, moving it around with the poker before returning to the couch that Bucky is sitting in. Bucky’s mesmerized by the flames, staring at them like they’re something to be coveted, like they could swallow him whole and make him burn for all the things he’s done wrong.

 

            Bucky barely hears Steve say “Wait right here,” as he disappears somewhere – the kitchen? – to do something.

 

            Bucky almost replies with “where else would I go,” but bites it back at the last second, because of course, Steve has a reason not to trust him. Bucky doesn’t think he would trust himself either, if he were in Steve’s position.

 

            It’s been a week since SHIELD officially released him into Steve’s custody (and over a year and a half since they first caught the Winter Soldier and “reset” his memories), but he doesn’t buy for a second that they’re not still watching him, even now. He’d be angry in another lifetime, maybe, but he doesn’t blame them for being too careful.

 

            He’s lost then, staring into the fire and thinking about burning, the smell of acrid flesh in the frigid deadness of the air during the winter-

 

            Bucky flinches, snapped back to the present when Steve sets a cup full of something on the table in front of him.

 

            The liquid is dark, aromatic, and for a second Bucky thinks it’s coffee, but it doesn't smell quite right. Not as pungent, something a little sweeter.

 

            It’s hot chocolate, the rounded end of a peppermint stick curled over the side.

 

            Bucky reaches out and picks up the mug carefully, staring as thin wisps of steam dissipate into the air before taking a small sip.

 

            Steve watches as the corners of Bucky’s lips quirk up.

 

            

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be posted by Christmas Eve...oops. Anyway…happy holidays everyone! 
> 
>  
> 
> Click [here](http://whoisbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/peppermint%20hot%20chocolate) for some research on 40's food and costs.


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